Mother and Child Reunion
by Agent Ninety-Nine
Summary: just can't believe it's so. I know it seems strange to say. I've never been laid so low, in such a mysterious way...


_I would not give you false hope  
On this strange and mournful day  
But the mother and child reunion  
Is only a motion away..._  
- Paul Simon

Zira fought, as she had always fought. Tossed by the swirling current, battered and cut by the debris the river had picked up along its violent way, she struggled with every muscle in her body to keep her head above the foaming surface. 

They should not win, her traitor son and the murderer Simba's child. Though all her allies had deserted her, even sly Vitani slinking over to the side of the enemy, though she was bereft of all her children, one dead, the others lost to her, she would fight on. She had entrusted herself to the river rather than accept help from Kiara, and from the river she would rise. Alone and unaided, Zira would conquer all. 

She clamped her jaws shut, though water still rushed in through her nostrils. Blinded and deafened by the onslaught and not even sure which way was up, her legs thrashed as she strained to keep her soaking, heavy body from sinking. She had been prepared to take on Simba and all his pride; now she must battle nature itself. But still she would not give up. 

Her streaming head emerged for a second, and Zira gulped precious air before being dragged back down. The bitter, muddy water seeped between her bared teeth. Fight as she would, her lungs were gradually filling with fluid. Her heart raced uselessly, thumping in the lioness' ears as it worked to pump a diminishing supply of oxygen to the flailing limbs - limbs which were growing gradually numb under the merciless pounding of the current. 

Only her anger kept her going. As she had once commanded Kovu during his months of training, she now forced her unwilling body to carry out her orders. The sharp pain of a boulder hitting her side revived her, reminding her that she was still alive, and her forelegs paddled convulsively. Her muzzle again broke the surface, but so briefly that she was unable to snatch a mouthful of air. She arched her head back, reaching upwards, and screamed mentally at her paws to function properly and _swim_. 

But her efforts became weaker until her legs, which had long lost all sensation, ceased moving altogether. It was as if her very spirit was receding from her body, shrinking into itself. She became nothing but a pair of lungs burning with fire and ice, a heart almost bursting, and an oxygen-starved brain whose thoughts tumbled and flowed with the current. 

Through Zira's tight-shut eyelids dim shapes appeared; the forms of lions. Here was Nuka, there an angry Simba. Kovu and Vitani as cubs merged into a purple shadow and reformed as Kiara. The whirling figures lost distinction and became blurred, fading into an angry red mist that filled her eyes and pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Then one face emerged from the confusion, an image so clear and crisp that Zira felt she could reach out and touch it. 

"_Scar_!" she cried soundlessly. Then she knew no more. 

She awoke sprawled on the river bank. Clearly the flood had petered out, as this was a gently flowing, sparkling stream rather than the murderous torrent she had escaped. The place was unfamiliar to her, even the scents and the birdsong subtly different to those she was used to. How far had she been carried? Never mind. She would return. Her fur bone-dry now and her step lighter than ever before, Zira set off into the unknown. 

This land was fresh and green, the tall grass brushing her belly. Squeaks and rustles spoke of abundant game. A gang of flamingos flapped overhead, their wings seeming to glow in the strong sunlight. Zira noticed all these good things, yet her feet led her obstinately north - back along the path of the river. 

She had journeyed for some time when she saw a lion resting beside the stream, his paws stretched out in a thoroughly relaxed attitude. She approached him cautiously, making her posture submissive. Queen of the Outland pride she had been, but this was another's territory. 

The stranger rose. He was a small lion, but powerfully-built, muscles visible under plushy grey fur. A magnificent black mane spilled over his shoulders and his eyes were deep red. 

Zira considered. Could she make an ally of this lion? He appeared to be alone. She approached in an obsequious attitude, her head low, and cringed before him. Later he would learn her strength; for now, let her be a humble, lost lioness far from home. 

"Where are you going?" His eyes met hers, and seemed to look within her. There was no hostility in his voice, yet he moved to block her way.   
"I'm going home," she said determinedly, switching her tail.   
"Why not stay here? This place has all you need."   
"I can't." And Zira told her story: the death of Scar, the need for revenge, Kovu's betrayal and her defiant plunge into the river. Yet somehow as she spoke the hatred that had consumed her for so many years diminished in importance, so she could think quite calmly about it. 

She fought the feeling. "I have to go home."   
"You _are_ home, Zira. Look."   
Before she could ask how he knew her name, the lion was pushing her shoulder gently but firmly, manoeuvring her towards the river. "Look," he said again. "Do you recognise yourself?" 

Zira peered at her reflection. What had happened to her? Her face, which for so long had worn a bitter frown, now had a tranquil expression. The rusty blaze on her forehead shone bright against golden fur. And, she realised with a shock, her right ear, which had been torn long ago, was a perfect half-moon again. How could this be? 

The lion spoke again. "Do you recognise _me_?" 

She looked at the face which appeared beside her own in the water. A ripple distorted the image, narrowing the jaws and robbing the lion of most of his mane. 

"Nuka?" 

"Mother!" 

He nuzzled her with purring whines, pushing his head into her flank again and again as he had not done since he was a tiny cub. For her part, Zira frantically licked his face and neck, grappling him with her forepaws. 

"But how, Nuka? I saw you die...I saw your body broken." 

Nuka looked sad for an instant. "Mother, haven't you got it yet?" 

And Zira realised. She looked at their perfect bodies, and remembered that, though she had run for hours, she was neither tired nor hungry. 

"I see." Simba had won, then. She, Zira, was gone and would be forgotten, her very body carried neatly away so it would not taint the waters of the Pridelands. 

"No, Mother. Kovu will be king of Pride Rock, just like you wanted. We shall watch over him as he and Kiara rule, we shall see your grandchildren born and grow, and eventually join us here. Never mind that your plan failed. Nothing that happened back there is important now." He reassured her as though she were the cub and he the parent, with an affectionate lick to the top of her head, then suddenly took off like a cheetah. 

"Come on. Dad's waiting!" 

Nuka's paws barely touched the ground as he loped joyfully through the summer grass, all his clumsiness shed. Zira stood for a moment longer as the last of her old troubles slipped from her mind like water shaken off after a swim. Her son had only ever honoured one lion with the title of 'dad'. 

Effortlessly catching up with the bounding Nuka, she ran to Scar. 

_And the course of a lifetime runs  
Over and over again..._


End file.
